


Love is Blind (and deaf, and dumb, and has questionable taste)

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Skinny mage develops crush on buff Seeker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 04:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16527503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonageMahanon Lavellan, former First to the Keeper of clan Lavellan, finds himself named the Herald of a prophetess of a god he does not revere. Awkward. But what's even more awkward? Developing a crush on a Seeker!





	Love is Blind (and deaf, and dumb, and has questionable taste)

_****Prompt 4:**** Never have I seen the like & And there were flowers in their hair._

 

Mahanon was particularly tired that afternoon. Dodging Josephine contributed more than a little to his fatigue. She oh so helpfully kept him informed every time a new message came. Every time he turned around, it seemed someone was after him for something. Some wanted favors, others wanted his time, some rare few wanted his head --preferably on a pike-- and one crazed matron wanted to match him up with her daughter. Not that he doubted that the third daughter of Comtesse Savornia of Wycome was anything but a lovely lady, but… he wasn’t interested in an arranged marriage right then, especially not to a noble-born shem...er, human.

 

His breath came out in small puffs of vapor as he scaled the wall and crawled on to the roof. Creators willing, no would come up here to bother him, at least for a little while. Sera was nothing if not unpredictable. He was still mildly upset over finding a jar of bees mixed in with his medicine-making kit yesterday. He was even more upset that it had been unlabeled. He’d opened the jar thoughtlessly, only to be confronted by an angry swarm. He’d run screaming from his quarters in terror, certainly not his proudest moment. She was making herself scare today, it seemed.

 

He sat and took in the scenery. Skyhold was nestled in mountains and the terrain was foreboding enough to make only the more determined of travelers risk the trip. He could hear prayers and fragments of conversations drifting on the air from the garden’s direction. From the courtyard, he could hear the clank and clang of soldiers at practice. It felt like music to him, compared to the many letters wanting this or that being read to him. He could read, but apparently, his advisers had caught on that he didn’t read every missive sent his way. They strong-armed random hapless agents to read the “more important” missives to him aloud.

 

He sighed and closed his eyes. He knew why he’d allowed the strange young elf, Sera, to join the Inquisition: she looked like his deceased friend, Naleen. Naleen had been his first friend in clan Lavellan after he’d been given to Keeper Deshanna to raise and train to be her First at a long-ago Arlathvhen. He could still vividly remember weaving the flower crown for Naleen to wear in her hair during her bonding to a Keeper’s Second from another clan. Baby’s breath for gladness. Golden daisies, her favorite, for loyalty. Morning glories for affection. It had taken a little magic to make it stay together, but to see her face light up in joy had been worth it.

 

He opened his eyes with a frown. Naleen’s new clan had perished two years after that. They’d fallen victim to a plague that had come from Tevinter by way of refugees who’d resettled around Hasmal. Her clan had been spending the summer months near the city’s borders to trade and take in any elves who wanted to leave the Alienage for a different life. The few survivors had been adopted into neighboring clans, after some time spent in quarantine. Most of them had been younglings not yet old enough to be given their vallaslin.

 

He shook his head and glowered. He could’ve sworn he heard someone scrabbling toward him, climbing up the wall. He wasn’t in the mood for company. He bounced to his feet and carefully leaped from roof to roof until he was on top of the tavern. _Good luck trying to follow me now,_ he thought with a smirk. He’d spent a great deal of his childhood climbing trees for fun or to wait for prey to get within reach.

 

A woman’s voice grunting and snarling drew his attention towards a corner of the training yard. Creeping with care to the edge of the tavern’s roof, he knelt down. He searched and spotted her, assaulting a practice dummy with utter savagery. Seeker Pentaghast. _Never have I seen the like,_ he thought absently with admiration. She looked dangerous, strong… beautiful.

 

_Wait, what?_

 

He blinked several times and palmed his face for a moment. _That is a shem, you fool,_ he grumbled internally. His eyes did not stray from Cassandra’s form. Strong, well-formed arms swung her sword with the ease and grace that came from years of practice. Her footwork was artistry to behold, or least he thought so. Mahanon wondered if she danced. If so, she was undoubtedly good at it.

 

Cassandra roared and swiped her blade in an arc, neatly decapitating her wooden target. The “head,” a sack filled with straw, bounced a few yards away, rolling to a stop near one of the tavern’s corners, also the corner he happened to be perched above. He felt his cheeks burning as the Seeker slowly made her way over to retrieve the mostly-empty sack. She made a disgusted noise as she snatched up the bag with the rather silly face painted on it.

 

“You’re kind of a force of nature, aren’t you?” Mahanon grinned from his perch, letting his legs dangle over the edge.

 

Cassandra looked around in confusion, and then upward. Catching sight of the Herald, she replied, “When I need to be.”

 

“It’s impressive,” he said with a lop-sided smile.

 

“You flatter me,” she said, a ghost of a smile on her lips for a brief moment.

 

“I’m trying,” he winked. _Mythal’s mercy, that smile was enchanting._

 

After judging the distance, he cautiously hopped from his perch to the ground. He smirked when he caught the Seeker’s brief look of worry and shock.

 

“You’ll wind up ending yourself before any of our enemies can if you continue doing that, Herald,” she said, trying to mask her worry.

 

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be funny? ‘Here lies Mahanon of clan Lavellen. Survived fighting an army of Red Templar monstrosities, only to meet his end sliding off a tavern roof.’”

 

A disgusted noise came in response to his attempt at humor.


End file.
